Runaway
by Irk The Waffle
Summary: Fifth-grader Michael Zangari has been living in squalor for as long as he can remember, and has been hearing voices for almost as long as that. He wants out, but does he deserve it? What do the voices have planned for him?
1. Just Another Day

**Consider this a replacement for "Precious". Between newer canon information, my own shifting headcanons, and my general improvements in writing, that fic hasn't been relevant in a very, very long time. So, I've done take two on my concepts for Mike's life leading up to juvie. This was originally going to be a one-shot, but it got longer than I expected, and between schoolwork and a visitor, I don't know how long it would take me to get up to the point I want. So rather than letting this stagnate for a few weeks and potentially end up forgotten, I've decided to split it into parts. I doubt it'll exceed two chapters in the end, but we'll see. For now, enjoy!**

* * *

I stood in the school's office, waiting patiently for the one present teacher to stop talking on the phone. I couldn't understand what she talked about, really; I recognized most of the words, but couldn't figure out their context. I assumed she spoke with another adult about business things that I wouldn't understand until I was older. As I waited for her to finish speaking, I looked around the room in an effort to keep myself busy. The beige walls with their photos and paintings of nature and the numerous bookcases with business-y looking books that I couldn't possibly read all struck me with perfect familiarity. I'd been in this office many, many times.

At least this time, I came here on my own free will rather than waking up after someone else got called here.

After saying her goodbyes, the teacher set down the phone, then jumped slightly after noticing me from the corner of her eye. "Mike? What are you still doing here? It's six at night!"

Ms. Kelly taught one of the school's kindergarten classes. I never had her as a teacher because I was out of that grade by the time she started working here, but I often saw her working in the office; she was one of the few teachers to remain in the building after the final bell rang. Because I stayed after more often than not, I ran into her a lot. I never minded talking to her whenever I had to come to the office. Her golden curls of hair and her bright smile always reminded me of the fairy godmothers I'd see in cartoons on TV. A fairy godmother never hurt anyone, so I felt safe around her. Sometimes she treated me like I was younger than the fifth-grader I was, but I liked that way better than constantly getting yelled at for things I didn't remember doing.

"Detention," I admitted with a sheepish grin. "I argued with the teacher during history again, so I had to clean the classroom. I only just got done."

Ms. Kelly shook her head and tutted. "Again? A young boy like you should be out playing, not hanging around here every day!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kelly." Despite her words, I didn't feel scolded. Instead, I felt more like she sympathized with my plight of getting stuck after school day after day.

Unlike the teachers who actually gave me detention, I felt like she might believe me if I told her I wasn't really the one who kept getting into trouble. I still couldn't bring myself to say that, after so many other teachers accused me of lying, but if I had to tell anyone, I might start with her.

"Oh, your cast is off!" she said, snapping me out of my considerations. "That's good to see!"

I nodded. "I thought I'd never get that thing off. Good thing I'm left-handed!"

"And now we know not to take flying leaps off the jungle gym, right?"

I only grinned in response. I honestly didn't remember doing that, but since everyone else told me that's how I broke my arm, I figure that really is what happened. It's not like I remembered any other way of breaking it.

"Goodness, I think I see you in casts as often as I don't..." she said, her smile fading as she spoke. "You must be an adventurous kid, with all the scuffs you always turn up with..."

"Yeah, I guess I'm just clumsy," I said with a laugh, desperate to get off this line of conversation. "Can I use the phone?" I asked, remembering why I was here to begin with. "I need to call my parents so they can pick me up."

"Why didn't you tell them before now that you had detention today?" she asked.

"I did, but they forget things sometimes. I wanna make sure they know."

"They didn't call us to ask why you're not home yet..." she said quietly, speaking more to the air than to me. As she lost herself in thought, I reached over and grabbed the phone receiver from next to her and dialed home. A series of rings sounded in my ear, but just as I expected – hoped against, but expected – no one ever answered.

"Five, six, seven..." I counted the rings in my ear, now used to how this would go. After the tenth ring, just as expected, the rings stopped in favor of a clicking noise and a robotic voice.

"I'm sorry, we're unable to come to the phone right now. After the beep, please leave your name and number, and we'll return your call as soon as possible."

_Beep._

"Mom? Dad?" I asked into the phone, in the hopes that someone was around to hear me as I recorded. "It's Mike. I'm sorry I'm not home yet. I had detention, and I'm still at school. But I'm done now, so can someone come get me?"

I waited a few seconds for someone to pick up the phone, but only silence greeted me. Ms. Kelly watched me with a frown, but she didn't say anything.

"Mom? Dad?" I asked again. "Is anyone home? I need a ride."

Still nothing. They almost never answered, and yet I constantly tried in the hopes that something would change.

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Sorry to bother you guys. I'll walk." I hung up the phone, fully prepared for this outcome. "Sorry to bother you, too, Ms. Kelly," I said. "I better get going before it gets too dark."

"I can drive you home if you want," she said. "I'm done here for the day."

"No, that's okay," I said. "I've walked this late before. I'll see you on Monday!" I smiled at her, then turned to leave.

"Mike. Wait," she said before I could take a step.

"Huh?" I asked, turning my head back toward her.

"Is everything okay at home?" she asked me, her forehead creasing.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be? They're probably still at work, that's all."

"You know..." She took a deep breath, then continued on in the honey-sweet voice I usually heard her using with the kindergarteners. "If you need help with anything, you can talk to me. I know you're not my student, but if you don't feel you can talk to any of your teachers, you can come to me with anything."

"Thanks, Ms. Kelly. I will."

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

"Nothing!" I insisted. "There's nothing wrong!"

"Mike... can you wait a moment?" she asked. After I nodded, she rose to her feet and approached one of the bookshelves. I watched as she removed a binder from the shelf and paged through it, not lingering longer than a second on each page. Eventually she stopped, popped open the rings on the binder, and removed a paper. My eyes followed her as she brought the paper over to the copier, laid it on the glass, and pushed a few buttons. After a few seconds of loud whirring, she removed the copy and set it down on her desk. She filled in a few blank lines with a blue pen, then handed me the result.

"Could you give this to your parents?"

I took the still-warm sheet from her hands and looked it over. The language was more formal than I was used to, but I understood the intent well enough; it requested that one of my parents or guardians sign it and suggest a date and time when they could come in and meet with the office.

"Oh..." My heart pounded as I looked it over, but I swallowed my nerves before Ms. Kelly could notice. "I've seen this before..."

"How did the meeting go then?" she asked. "I don't remember your parents ever coming to the school."

"They didn't come," I said. "I... I forgot to give them the paper, so they never knew about it."

"You forgot?" she repeated. "That's why they never came?"

I nodded quickly in response.

I'm not sure she believed me.

"Please don't forget this time?" she asked. "I'd really like for someone here to speak with your parents. Even I might speak to them myself. Even if I'm not your teacher, I still see you in here enough that I think I have a right."

"I won't forget, Ms. Kelly," I said, even as I considered ripping the paper up and dropping it in a storm drain on my way home. "I promise."

"You're sure there's nothing you want to talk about?" Ms. Kelly asked. "I'll stay later if you need me to."

"There's nothing." I turned toward the door again, and this time, walked for it before she could ask me anything else. "I'll see you on Monday, Ms. Kelly!"

To this day, I still wonder what would have happened if I told her the truth.

* * *

The sun had begun to set by the time I left school. It wasn't as dark as it could be yet, but the street lamps had already come on. I shivered in the winter air and drew my coat closer to me, although with all the holes it held, it still didn't do much to keep me warm.

I wondered if mom could afford a new one yet. She couldn't last year, but maybe this time...

Against my better judgment, I hadn't thrown away the paper Ms. Kelly gave me. In the end, I placed it in my folder and convinced myself to give it to whichever parent I saw next. Maybe it wouldn't go so bad this time.

Maybe this time. Maybe that time. Maybe things will be different. I found myself thinking that a lot over the years...

For a brief moment, the world around me hiccuped. I didn't suddenly find myself in a different location like I usually did, but the people who walked around me were suddenly further ahead than they should have made it in the time I remembered. I'd gotten so used to losing a few seconds like this that it didn't even break my stride; as long as it didn't end up in me getting lost or doing something I couldn't remember, the short time lapses stopped impacting me a long time ago.

_Hey, Mike. Look to your right. __I was just out, and I saw something._

The voices, on the other hand, I could never get used to. A deep voice that chilled my spine flooded my head, and though I always told myself not to pay any attention to this one, I turned my head like he wanted. An orange tabby cat sat on the wall next to me. It watched me with its bright green eyes and occasionally meowed, but didn't move any more than its tail.

"You mean the cat?" I asked out loud, hoping no one would question me talking to nobody. "What about it?"

_I'm bored. I wan__t __to __play with the cat._

"What do you mean, 'play'?" I asked. "I didn't think you liked animals."

_Are you kidding?_ he responded. _I love playing with animals! I'll just pull the lighter from __our__ pocket and-_

"Wait, _what?_" I asked. I dug my hand into my coat pocket and clutched around in it. Before long, my fingers found a smooth piece of plastic. With a gulp, I withdrew it from its hiding place, hoping it wasn't what I thought it was.

I brought my hand into my line of vision to see a black lighter in my palm.

"How long has this been here?!" I asked.

_Nicked it this morning,_ said the voice. _It was just sitting there __in the living room, __right next to the big chair,__ so why not, right?_

"This is dad's! Do you know what he's gonna do if he finds out we took his lighter?!"

_Calm down, calm down! He's never home before us. We'll put it back when we get home, and __the bastard will__ never even notice!_

"What if my teachers saw this?! You could have gotten me expelled!"

_Why are you so boring?! _he asked. _Sheesh, I was just trying to do something fun for us... and you never answered my first question. Can I come out and play with the cat?_

"_No,_" I said sternly. "I'm not letting you near it. Not with a _lighter_."

_Why not?_

"Why not?! Why do you need to ask that?!" I couldn't understand this voice's logic at all. "You can't hurt animals! It's wrong!"

_It's just a stupid cat. It's not like anyone would miss it._

"Of course someone would! It's wearing a collar!" I pointed out, now focusing on the light blue collar around its neck. "That means it has an owner. I won't let you hurt animals, and I really won't let you hurt someone's pet. I bet someone's looking for that cat right now."

_Do you think someone's looking for us?_

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

_I'm just saying, just because the cat lives with someone, doesn't mean someone actually cares about it. I thought you'd realize that, of all people._

I fell silent as the voice's point settled in my mind.

_Come on. I haven't had fun in a long time. Let me play with the cat._

"I said no." I placed the lighter back in my pocket and walked away from the cat. "Come on, it's getting dark. I want to get home."

_You're no fun, Mike._

I ignored the voice's complaints as I made my way home through the dark.

* * *

The door creaked as I turned my key and pushed it open. "Hello?" I called into the pitch-black house. "Is anyone home?"

The silence was the best response I could have gotten.

I flicked on the switch by the door frame, then locked the door behind me. The overhead light, dim due to two bulbs in the four-bulb fixture dying last week, illuminated the dusty carpet, littered with plastic wrappers and beer bottles. I navigated through the minefield of garbage, taking particular care not to step on any glass, in an effort to make it to the kitchen. Turning on the kitchen light showed me even more dirt, with floors that hadn't been mopped in months and counters without any space for the smallest crumb due to all the dirty dishes and even more bottles. Piles of old envelopes, each addressed to either Nico Zangari or Rebecca Horne, formed tottering mountains on the table. If I breathed on one of the stacks, surely I'd find myself buried in envelopes with threatening stamps like "LAST NOTICE!" and "FINAL WARNING!" marked across them in bright red ink.

This didn't even disgust me anymore.

I dropped my schoolbag next to the one kitchen chair that didn't have papers or clothing stacked on it, then headed for the fridge. Mom hadn't been home in over a week and dad refused to go shopping anywhere more complicated than his runs to the gas station for beer and microwave dinners – microwave dinners I'd be foolish to take from him – so other than the brand new case of booze, I didn't have many options. While opening drawers in search of something I wanted to eat, I finally unearthed a plastic bag of deli ham. It had apparently gone off two weeks ago, judging by the date on the package. But it didn't smell objectionable and had nothing growing on it, so I peeled a slice from the stack, rolled it into a ball, and shoved the whole slice in my mouth at once. I cringed as I chewed the slightly-spoiled meat, a sour taste setting my taste buds ablaze, but still I powered through. Spoiled or not, it was better than a completely empty stomach.

After dinner, I sat down at the table and opened my schoolbag. One of the most annoying parts of detention for me was the fact that it ate into the time I could spend doing my homework. At this rate, I'd probably be working until I had to go to bed...

The beer bottles on the table clinked as I shoved them out of the way to make room for my books. I pulled out my first book and set it up, but I hadn't given it as much room as I thought; as I opened it, I knocked a couple bottles onto the floor. They shattered on the tile floor, scattering glass and spilling old beer everywhere.

"No, no, no!" I quickly leaped up with my book in my hand and turned it over, inspecting every inch of it; thankfully, I didn't seem to have spilled any beer on it. Grateful for that much, I tucked it back into my bag for safety, then went searching for clean-up tools. I pulled the dustpan out of the closet, ignoring the avalanche of various other objects stored in there now that they no longer had the dustpan holding them up. I also spied a roll of paper towels mixed into a pile of dirty cups on the counter; I'd try to unearth that after sweeping up the glass. With a plan to get things cleaned up in mind, I crouched down on the floor and swept up the shattered bottles, along with whatever crumbs and dust wanted to come along with them.

In the middle of sweeping, I jerked up like a shot, my heart pounding in my throat. The door's loud creak had echoed through the house, followed by the sound of wrappers crunching under someone's shoes.

"Mom?" I called hopefully.

Dad entered the kitchen without a word, the wrapper to a microwave burrito currently stuck to his sneaker. I watched him as he approached the fridge, seemingly unaware of my existence, and exhaled a heavy sigh of relief that he didn't seem to care about the shattered bottle. He was a tall man with skin as tan as mine, not particularly buff, but imposing enough to instantly let everyone know he was not a man to cross. His dark hair fell down to his shoulders, not as a deliberate choice, but because he hadn't bothered to get it cut recently. A trip to a hairdresser probably would have also prevented the streaks of grease it currently shined with.

"Where's your mother?" he asked as he rifled around in the fridge. "We're out of food."

"I haven't seen her," I said. "I thought you knew where she went."

"I can't keep track of what that bitch does," he said. "Probably off selling herself again... she better come back soon. She's sure as hell not gonna leave _you _here."

"Selling herself?" I asked as I dumped the glass into one of the half-full garbage bags scattered around the kitchen. "What does that mean?"

Dad didn't answer me, instead preferring to grumble to himself. "No food in the house, floors are a goddamn disgrace... I work all week, I don't have time for this shit..." He withdrew a beer bottle from the fridge, then retreated back to the living room, chugging the bottle as he left. I watched him go, then turned my eyes to my schoolbag.

I didn't want to. But if I didn't, Ms. Kelly might report it, and that may have made things worse.

My body tensed as I pulled the meeting form out of my bag. Deep in my mind, I knew this would go wrong. This would be a terrible idea. Why wasn't mom home? She'd probably forget about the meeting again, but at least she'd sign it...

"Dad...?" I asked, trying to hide the shaking in my voice, as I approached him with the paper in my hand. He sat back in his stained recliner, his beer clutched in his fist, while he watched a news show. He didn't speak, but he looked at me, so I assumed he heard me. "I, um..." I held the paper out and gulped.

"What's this?" he asked as he took the paper from me.

"One of the teachers gave it to me... she wants you to sign it..."

"To the parents or guardians of Michael Zangari, we would like to arrange a meeting..." he read aloud. "Why'd they give you this?"

"They want to meet with you," I said, regret sinking my stomach like a stone. "Probably to talk to you about how I'm doing..."

"Why, so they can tell me all about how my kid talks to himself again?" he said as he shoved the paper back into my hands. "I'm not referring any kid of mine to a damn shrink. Do you have any idea what that would say about me?"

"B-but-" I stammered. "But if I don't bring this in, I might get in trouble-"

"Ask your mother about it, then. See if she cares."

"But I don't know when she's coming home!" I cried out, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. "Dad, please, if you don't meet with the teachers they're going to get worried, they might call here again and I know you hated that... please, just go in, let them know I'm okay-"

"_I'm not going!_" he roared, his volume shocking me into silence and stillness. "If you're okay with the school thinking you're crazy, you go ahead, but I'm not dealing with this!" He groaned in exasperation and dug a shaking hand into his jacket pocket. "I need a smoke..."

Oh. Oh no.

"I'm just... gonna go do my homework now..." I said with a nervous laugh as I turned away, eager to get out of here soon. Maybe I could drop it on the kitchen floor and he'd think he left it there-

"Michael," he called sternly. I froze up with my back toward him, too stunned to even turn back around.

"...yes, dad?" I asked.

"Where's my lighter? I left it on this table here this morning. Where is it?"

I swallowed what little saliva my dry mouth could produce, and steeled myself even further for hiding the quavering in my voice. "...I don't know," I said after a few seconds of silence.

"Where's my lighter, Mike?" he repeated, louder this time.

"I said I don't know. I'm sorry." I took a deep, unfortunately audible breath as I tried my best to not cry. "Maybe... maybe it's in the kitchen? I can go check for you-"

"Turn your pockets out."

"W-what?" I said, my voice turning into a squeak.

"Turn. Your pockets. Out." he repeated. "_Now!_"

"Um..." I dug my trembling hands into my coat pockets. "O-okay... I... will..." Like ripping off a bandage, I pulled both pockets inside out in one quick movement. I didn't usually keep anything in my coat, so there wasn't a lot to remove from them.

The only thing in my coat was the black lighter that hit the carpet.

Next thing I knew, I had dad's rough hands on my shoulders as he shoved me into the wall, smacking my head against it with a loud thud. "You little bastard!" he shouted. "First you steal my shit, and then you lie to me about it?! Why did you take my lighter?!"

"I didn't!" I insisted. "I- I really didn't!"

"_Bullshit! _What, did someone else put it in your pocket?!"

"Yes! I- I- mean- well, no, but-" I stammered, trying to figure out how to explain this to someone who refused to believe it. "One of the others made me take it, I'm not sure why, but I didn't know he did- I- I would have stopped him if-"

"_Shut up!_" Dad's roar intimidated me into a swift silence. "You still think I'm going to believe that imaginary friend crap?! People don't live in your head, Michael!"

"But they really-"

"_I said shut up!_" He threw me to the side and to the floor. I winced as I bounced, my shoulder colliding painfully with the ground. "You're really intent on this, aren't you? You actually want people to think you're crazy!"

"I'm not crazy, but-"

"Maybe you really aren't my kid, maybe Becca got knocked up by one of her crackhead friends... would explain why her goddamn bastard kid is so screwed up..."

"Dad, please-" This time, he silenced me not with screams, but with a swift kick in my stomach.

"Get out of my face, Mike," he said. "Not another word from you. I don't care where you go, just get away from me. I've had a long day and I'm not in the mood for this."

"But I-"

"_Go to bed, Mike!_"

"But the paper!" I insisted as I sat up, my eyes welling with tears. "Please, you don't even need to come, just sign so I have something to hand in, if you sign it I won't come out of my room until school on Monday, I promise-"

I cried out as dad's fist collided with my face, sending my head slamming into the wall behind me once more.

"I'm sorry-" Normally I would have run off by now, but both of Dad's fists now balled around my shirt collar so I couldn't move. "Never mind- I'll go- I'm sorry-"

I don't remember what he said as I sobbed more apologies. A pounding ache spread through my brain as my hearing went murky. My chest tightened, and each breath came more labored than the last.

"I'm sorry-"

The world went black and white and blurry as my breathing turned to painful gasps.

I woke up in bed.

I groaned and clutched my head as I sat up. I didn't know how long I was out, but whatever hour it was, it was a dark one; my light hadn't been turned on, so I sat in darkness that prevented me from recognizing anything in the room I knew so well. Every inch of me ached, but nothing hurt more than my head. I wasn't sure how much of it was physical or how much was mental, but either way, the headaches after stuff like this were the one thing I could never get used to. The bruises on my limbs that I rarely remembered actually earning had become a fact of life; they still hurt, but they were so commonplace that I barely knew what it felt like not to have them. The headaches, however, couldn't be ignored so easily. Especially not now, when they came with chattering from numerous voices at once, all of them loud enough to drown out all the others. I couldn't recognize any of the voices or anything they said; all I knew was that they added to the disorientation that always came with the longer time lapses. With another groan, I threw myself back down onto the pillow and closed my eyes.

I never did get started on my homework. At least it was a weekend... maybe if I stayed out of my parents' way and didn't switch, I could get it done by Saturday night... I still didn't know what to do about the meeting slip, though...

Annoyed but aware that there was nothing else I could do at the moment, I drifted off into sleep.

* * *

I had a very vivid dream that night.

It took place in a pink room with ridged walls, textured like the standard image of a brain I often saw in cartoons. Two figures sat on stools at a table with a white cloth over it. A pale woman nervously ran her fingers through her blonde hair, her blue eyes darting around the room nervously. I recognized her as a woman named Svetlana. I'd seen her in my dreams before; I'd come to view her as a big sister, or maybe an aunt. I often dreamed about her holding me as I cried and telling me that I would be okay. She had a voice so heavily accented that I couldn't always understand her, like some of the people I heard in international shows, but even when I couldn't understand, her tone always comforted me.

The other figure at the table, however, wasn't familiar to me. This figure was a large male, with well-maintained muscles to match his size. His skin was darker than mine, though I couldn't tell his hair color, for atop his head sat a brown fedora that covered all of it.

"Are we the only ones coming, then?" the man asked in a thick Australian accent of his own, though I found his words easier to understand than what I was used to from Svetlana. "Where are the others?"

"Chester is in no position to be speaking in the meetings, Manitoba," Svetlana said. "I do not believe he's even aware of what he is. Last I saw he stood in the middle of nothing, yelling at children."

The man who I now assumed to be Manitoba shot upright, a scowl on his face. "The littles?" he asked. "He shouldn't do that, they've been through enough-"

Svetlana shook her head. "No, not them. He yelled at no one. He's in his own world at the moment. I don't know what he sees, but it's not there."

"Oh," he said as his body language relaxed. "That's a right shame... what about Vito?"

"He is also in no shape for a meeting. For now he only yells at anyone who comes close not to touch him. I cannot imagine what he's been through..." Svetlana shuddered as her voice trailed off.

"Think we're due to take some of those memories for him again?" Manitoba asked.

"Oh, I do so loathe those memories..."

"Yeah, but we function better if we all have small chunks rather than one person having to hold it all, you know? I don't like it either. Need a shower just thinking about it. But if he gets too overwhelmed and Mike has to deal with it..."

"Mike can _not_ have those memories," Svetlana said firmly. "I absolutely forbid it. I know I cannot protect him from everything, but I must draw a line somewhere."

I wasn't sure what she was talking about, but I figured I was better off not knowing.

"So, no Chester, no Vito, and obviously the littles and halflings can't do anything here..." Manitoba said. "Looks like it's just us, Svet."

A loud cough interrupted Manitoba. Both he and Svetlana turned their heads at once, toward a figure I could have sworn wasn't there before they looked. His skin tone matched mine, as did his bone-exposing weight, but even sitting, he looked to be nearly twice as tall as I was, with most of that height in his legs. Most of his hair was covered by the gray hoodie he had pulled over his head, but a pitch black chunk of it covered one of his eyes.

"Did you forget about someone?" said the new figure in a deep voice that loaded my veins with dread. I recognized it immediately; this was the same one who wanted to attack the cat earlier.

"Not on accident," Manitoba said, glaring at him. "I thought you hated these meetings."

"I also hate being forgotten about," said the hooded one. "At least give me an invitation so I can decline."

"There is a reason you are no longer invited!" Svetlana shouted, although her body trembled. "These meetings are for Mike's sake, which you clearly have no interest in-"

"Is Mike the only one who matters? What are the rest of us doing here, then?"

Svetlana and Manitoba didn't answer him, instead choosing to lock steely glares at him.

"What's wrong with letting me know what you guys have planned for the body? I deserve to know that much."

"Fine. Just don't talk," Manitoba said. He and Svetlana faced each other once more, their concern no longer with the new addition. "What I wanted to talk about is simple – things can't stay the way they are now. I don't think Mike can take much more of this. The question is, what do we do about it?"

"I am not sure about leaving this place," Svetlana said. "At least here we have food and shelter, as minimal as it is. Could we really survive if we left?"

"Can we really survive if we stay?" Manitoba countered. "The body's getting weaker. I can feel it every time I front."

"What do you suggest, then?" Svetlana asked. "We cannot leave without a plan. It could make things much worse."

"Simple. We convince Mike to report," Manitoba said. "I know he seems reluctant to leave. I don't even know if he knows he has a choice. But if we can get the body in a safer place, show Mike he's better off there-"

"But what if his parents find out?" Svetlana asked. "His father would not be happy... not happy at all... and if he gets sent back home..."

"If he tells the full story, they can't possibly send us back here, can they?"

"I agree with Manitoba."

Manitoba and Svetlana both turned to the hooded one again after he made his contribution.

"I thought we told you not to talk, mate," Manitoba said. "Your ideas have never been in Mike's best interest, so I don't see you starting now."

"Seriously? You're not going to let me talk about something that concerns me as much as it does you guys?" he snapped. "I'm so sick of you guys treating me like I don't matter. Not much different from the outside. It's bullshit, frankly. Besides, I'm agreeing with the hat guy."

"Wait, you agree?" Manitoba said.

"That's what I said the first time. Maybe if you weren't so determined to shut me up, you would have caught that."

"...huh. Well, then." Manitoba smirked and fiddled with the brim of his hat while Svetlana looked back and forth between the two, a disgusted look on her face. "So, you can help me convince Svetlana that the best thing to do is to report our issue to authorities and let someone else take care of this?"

"Not that far," the hooded one said. "I just agree with you more than Svetlana because I do agree that we should leave. Yesterday, preferably."

Manitoba's smirk faded as quickly as it appeared. "What are you saying, then? If we're not reporting, that means we leave, and then...?"

"No then. We leave. That's it. We take care of ourselves and stop relying on other people. Look where reliance has gotten us up to now."

"I am not sure I follow," Svetlana said. "Surely you are not suggesting we live out on the streets, with no warmth or food?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Get out of here and worry about the rest later."

"I don't think I'm on-board with this," Manitoba said. "I was thinking more like, we find a shelter somewhere and stay there, let someone else take care of us, maybe we'd be placed in foster care-"

"Do you _really_ think we'd stand a chance in foster care?" asked the hooded one.

"Just because you have poor self-esteem and think no one would want you, doesn't mean-"

"Be quiet about that! That's not the point!"

Svetlana squeaked and shrunk back, but Manitoba held firm.

"This has nothing to do with self-esteem, I'm thinking practically here! So, we take this body, of an older brown kid with a number of undiagnosed mental issues, to a shelter. And then what? Who would adopt this kid when there's so many more appealing options? Instead we get stuck there for the next few years, at the mercy of a bunch of adults with no personal investment in us who could be just as bad as dear old daddy here, until the day the body turns eighteen. Then we get thrown out on the street _anyway_. I'm just cutting out the middleman. We stay on the streets, we're free early."

"I understand your concerns with shelters," Svetlana said, still withdrawing from the hooded one. "I am also unsure about our chances there. But I do not like our chances on the street, either. That's why I suggest we stay where things are certain, and perhaps we'll have a change of luck-"

"That's it?!" The hooded one's voice grew louder. "Just wait around here?! What, do you like getting the shit beaten out of you?!"

"We cannot act without agreement between everyone here!" Svetlana stood up and faced the hooded one, perhaps trying to face her fears, but even standing she wasn't that much taller than he was while sitting. "I refuse to leave unless everyone else is on board, and even then I'm uncertain... but I am mostly concerned about Mike. Until he agrees to leave, I vote that we stay."

"Yeah, good damn luck getting Mike to agree to anything," the hooded one spat. "He'll stay here and insist he deserves all this until the day he finally gets killed. That's not fair on any of us!"

"But it is still his body!" Svetlana said. "It should be his choice!"

"As much as I disagree about staying, Svetlana does have a point about that," Manitoba said. "We're here to protect him. While he does need some nudging to act out more, I don't think just taking over the body and whisking him away is the best option. But if we can convince-"

"You're not going to convince him! Don't you get it yet?! That kid has no spine!"

"What kind of protector are you?!" Manitoba said. "Are you seriously suggesting we force him into a life situation he doesn't want?!"

"Am I seriously being scolded by two people who keep taking over his body and getting him into trouble?!"

"A detention or two never hurt anybody," Manitoba said. "Especially since he's safer at school than he is at home. I'm doing him a favor in a way. I do agree with you that we deserve some recognition on the outside, but there are ways to do that which don't contradict our protective roles."

The hooded one rolled his eyes. "Tell that to the one who keeps getting his limbs broken."

"Those were _accidents!_" Svetlana said. "Those were much, much different from purposely stealing from one who you know will attack us for it, or from suggesting we march Mike into a situation that will frighten and endanger him! You owe him your loyalty-"

"I owe Mike _nothing!_" said the hooded one. "I've never thought of myself as his protector. I'm here to protect the body and myself. If Mike benefits from that, great. But his mind is not my priority. What I want is for the body to stop getting hit. That's all. So what are you two going to do about it?"

Manitoba and Svetlana spoke at the same time.

"Report."

"Wait it out."

"And my vote is on running away."

"Your vote doesn't count," Manitoba says. "You've openly admitted to disregarding Mike, so you are no longer part of this meeting. Case closed."

"And who made _you_ the leader of this system?!" the hooded one shouted, finally standing up. "Who says that _you_ get to make all the decisions?! What about _me?!_ Do you have _any idea_ what I've taken for this kid?! How many times I've been hit?! I just went through this shit a few hours ago! Mike freaked out, he retreated, and I got to be the one who woke up again! You're both so focused on taking pain from each other and from that shirtless guy; what about me?! _Why do I keep getting forgotten about?! _I don't even have a _name!_"

"A system is a team!" Manitoba said. "Either you work with us to protect Mike, or you're on your own. I can't help someone who works against Mike."

"And I can't work _with_ Mike, so it looks like we're stuck." The hooded one turned his back toward the other two, then looked back at them. "And if we're always going to be stuck, then I have no reason to wait any longer than I already have. I'm giving you until morning to decide what you're going to do to protect our body and to protect the kid. If neither of you make a move, I'm taking matters into my own hands."

He started to walk away, but I didn't get to watch for long. A pillar of fire erupted between him and the others, using his stool as kindling, and obscured him from view.

I didn't think much of it at the time. I brushed it off as a strange dream, filled with words and images that meant nothing, and nothing more than that.


	2. This Is Safety?

**I said this would only be two chapters, but apparently I lied. Like everything I write, this got away from me! At this point, I'm done trying to predict how many chapters this will be in the end - it'll be done when it's done!**

**Things get really dark here, so I've bumped up the rating to an M. Child abuse, spousal abuse, animal abuse, this chapter kind of turned into "how much suffering can I pack into 7000 words?" Aren't I just the most pleasant?**

* * *

I awoke the next morning to the sound of shouting coming up through my bedroom floor. Two voices, both belonging to to my parents, flowed through my ears, and I wondered when Mom finally came home. The floor muffled the noise enough that I couldn't understand the words, but the volume hit hard enough that I couldn't imagine getting back to sleep.

I could try my best, though. I had no reason to leave the room during this; the argument had nothing to do with me. If it did, someone would have come to slam on my door by now. I curled into a ball and cocooned my blanket around me, intent on not coming out until things became quiet again.

_Hey. Hey, Mike. Wake up._

"Nnn..." I groaned in response to the deep, nameless voice echoing in my head, but offered nothing more substantial than that.

_Mike? Come on. Get up._

"No," I insisted as I pulled the blanket even tighter around me.

_Are you really going to try to sleep through this?_

"Yes." I closed my eyes for a moment to make my point, but a particularly high-pitched shriek from my mother shot them open again.

_Would you wake up if I promised to get you out of here?_

Despite all my distrust in this particular voice, he did manage to get my attention. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

_Exactly what I said. I'm going to get us out._

"But how?" I asked. "Where are we going to go?"

_Does it matter? Is there anywhere worse than here?_

I didn't have a good answer for that.

_I'm going to give you enough time to pack a bag. Take whatever you want, but remember that we'll be carrying it around. Once you're done, I'll take over and get us out. I'll take care of us. You just need to trust me._

"But... I'm not sure I trust you," I said. "I mean, you do get me in trouble a lot... stealing, attacking people... I don't know if I'm okay with it."

_Fine. Die here, then._

The voices downstairs grew even louder, and after a loud crash, fell silent.

_Do you really want to put up with this for the rest of your life, Mike? A life that probably won't last much longer if this keeps up._

I sat up and let the blanket fall, exposing my head. "No. I don't."

_Then trust me. What other choice do you have?_

I looked around my bedroom, one of the only safe places I ever knew. I couldn't say I was deprived as far as belongings go. Even if the rickety old TV, the stained and tattered toys, and the stacks of VHS tapes and books all came to me used, they were all mine in the end. Everything in this room had provided me with an escape, whether through the stories told to me from the books and videos or through the stories I'd tell myself by using the toys. I'd made a lot of good memories in here; indeed, most of my memories that could be called remotely good took place in this room. Because of that, I couldn't say this home was all bad. Could I really just leave it all behind without knowing where I was going?

The voices grew louder again, along with the thumping sound of something hitting the wall.

"I want to leave."

_I knew you'd come to your senses!_

"I just need to go downstairs to get my school bag," I said. "I'll let you know when I'm done packing. Then you'll take over from there?"

_That's right_.

I rolled out of bed, still wearing the clothes I'd worn to school yesterday. Before anything else, I decided to get changed into a cleaner set of clothes. Maybe clean clothes weren't necessary for running away from home, but at least it made me feel a bit better to not start my day while dirty. I briefly considered grabbing a few extra sets for my bag, but decided against it in the end. It'd take up too much room, room that would be better saved for food, and I didn't know when I'd get a chance to change in privacy anyway.

I prepared to leave my room, but at the last second, I stopped at a pile of my belongings stacked against my wall. I fished out a few paperback books, chosen by proximity rather than enjoyment, and a plush frog that I'd owned for a few years and that certainly looked the part right now, with its missing eye, torn limbs, and black dirt stains obscuring the green fabric.

Maybe none of this was necessary. But I couldn't leave my memories behind entirely.

As I opened my bedroom door and walked down the stairs, I could hear my parents' voices clearer. I tried my best not to pay attention to them. Most of what they said never made sense anyway. They didn't notice me coming down the stairs, instead preferring to swear at each other. Sometimes I hated this, but today it worked in my favor. I entered the kitchen to see that none of my school things had been moved since I left the table yesterday. Grateful that I didn't need to search the whole house to find out where one of them would have tossed my bag to get it out of the way, I lifted my bag up onto the chair to make it easier to pack, then placed my books and my toy inside. Due to everything around me being stationary, I didn't notice a time lapse, but the deep voice must have taken a look outside and seen what I was doing.

_That textbook takes up too much space. You need to take it out._

"I still need it for school," I said quietly, afraid of being heard, as unlikely as that possibility seemed.

_What makes you think we're going back to school?_

"I... I can't just skip school, can I? Miss Kelly would get worried."

_Mike, the point of this is to survive on our own. We can't rely on other people anymore. Not your parents, not your teachers, no one._

"But my teachers never hurt me," I said. "Yeah, some of them yell at me for what you or the others do... but I'm still safe there. Why can't I go back?"

_We're not going back!_ he snapped, loud enough inside my head to make me flinch. _Who says someone won't notice you haven't been home? If you go back to school, they'll make you come back here. We can't __do __that._

I stared silently at the book in my bag. Could I really drop out? I wasn't that sort of person, was I?

_Leave the homework behind, Mike. It's just dead weight._

With a heavy sigh, I removed my text book and threw it down to the floor with a loud bang. For good measure, I also opened all the pockets on my schoolbag and shook it out, letting pencils, erasers, and other assorted supplies clatter down to the tiles. Once I had the bag completely emptied, I replaced the things from my room that I really did want to take, then moved on to the fridge. One beacon of luck from Mom's return home was that she came with food. Half the fridge was still taken up with various varieties of alcohol, but at least we had some fresh food for me to take. I dug through the fridge, looking for things that didn't need extra preparation, and decided to grab a few apples, a packet each of ham and cheese, some water bottles, and a carton of orange juice.

_Isn't __most of __that stuff going to go bad?_

"I'm used to spoiled food," I said with a shrug. "It's better than leaving empty handed, isn't it?"

_Gross. I'm not eating it once it gets furry._

He didn't tell me to put any of it back, so I moved on to the counters to see what other foods were available. All sorts of junk food littered the cabinets in between months-old bottles of beer. I ended up taking a bag of bread and a package of cookies.

_Is that it? Take all of it! We don't need to leave food for these people!_

"I don't have enough room for all of it, and living entirely on snack food might make me sick."

_Sicker __than eating spoiled cheese?_

"If you want to decide what to pack, then maybe you should take over," I said. He didn't protest further, so I closed the bag and hefted it onto my shoulders to test its weight. It was heavier than my school books ever made it, mostly from the water bottles, but I could manage like this.

"I just need my coat, then it's your turn," I told the voice. "Do you know where it is? I was wearing it when I blacked out."

_Your dad took it __off me__. Said he wanted to see if you stole anything else from him. I don't know what he did with it after that._

"Maybe it's still in the living room..." I suggested as I turned back to that area of the house. Thankfully, I didn't need to look very far. My coat sat crumpled on the floor behind the lounge chair. I lightly placed my bag back on the floor, then with long practiced stealth, I silently approached the chair and scooped up the coat. As I slipped my arms into the worn fabric, I peeked out from behind the chair to see what was going on between my parents. Dad towered over Mom; she wasn't particularly short, but Dad stood tall enough to tower over pretty much anyone. Her skin was darker than mine, and her black, immensely curly hair fell down to the middle of her back. Someone, I couldn't tell who, had let their temper extend to inanimate objects over the course of this argument. A shattered flower pot sat in the middle of the floor in a pile of dirt and browned flowers, and a heap of glass had piled up in front of our now busted television.

"I'm asking you for the fifth damn time, Becca," Dad said. "Where the hell were you?"

"I told you I was staying with friends!" Mom replied, standing up as straight as she could.

Dad raised his hand as if ready to backhand her across the face, but he didn't take the swing. "For a week?! You went off with your friends for a week and just left your kid here?! What kind of a mother are you?!"

Mom used to bring me with her when she'd go to stay with friends. I liked some of them, since they'd take care of both of us by doing things like taking us out to nice dinners and letting us talk when we were upset. Some of them even offered to call the police, although Mom always begged them not to. Other friends, though, I didn't like so much. A lot of them drank alcohol like Dad did, or they took pills and used needles like the officers in school told us not to do. Mom would always join them when they did that, and I'd be ignored for a while. There were even a couple friends of Mom's that I always blacked out around. If I tried asking the others in my head if they knew why, they'd tell me I didn't need to know what happened. Svetlana seemed particularly upset about it. I do remember a time I lost an entire week's worth of memories, until I woke up to Mom screaming at one of her friends to never even look at me again. That was the last time she ever brought me with her when she left.

"The least you could do is help look after him while I need to be away! He's your son, too!"

"He is _not_ my son!" my dad snapped. "I never wanted a damn kid to begin with! He's your friend's kid, isn't he?! Isn't that why you hang around there so much? Because you're off banging crackheads in your free time?"

"That isn't what I was doing! A friend of mine needed a job done, and I needed the money! That money is why you have food now!"

"What sort of job? Is my girlfriend out selling cocaine again?"

Mom still stood firm and looked Dad in the eyes, but she didn't respond to him.

"This is why we're not married, Becca," Dad said. "I'm not marrying some chick who can't go two days without snorting something."

"Really, Nico? Is that why? That's rich coming from a man who can't even feed himself because he's too busy drinking his paychecks-"

Dad raised his hand again, and this time slapped Mom across the face so hard she crumpled to the floor with a pained cry.

"The school's sending home letters again, you know," he said, almost too casually considering what he'd just done. "They want to know why your kid keeps talking to people who aren't there. Is that what happens when a crackhead knocks up another crackhead? You get a kid who sees shit? Or maybe you've been sharing your stash with him, is that what fucked him up? I know I didn't make a kid like that, I'm sure as hell about that!"

_Did you find the coat?_ asked the voice in my head.

"Yeah," I said, not taking my eyes off the scene that played out in front of me.

"Just go to the meeting!" Mom said, pushing herself up on her hands and looking straight up at Dad. "They'll keep sending those letters until someone shows up!"

"I'm not going to a meeting for a kid who's not even mine! You go do it if you care so damn much about him!"

"I can't go, you know I'm too busy right now-"

"Busy getting wasted? That's what happened last time, the school called to ask why you didn't show up, I couldn't exactly tell them you were passed out in the bathtub, I can't have child services coming out here and crawling up my ass-"

_What else is there to do, then? Can we __go now__? I can hear their screeching without even coming out __in__ front. Another five seconds of this and I'm gonna need to choke someone._

"I can't leave Mom, can I?" I asked. "I mean, she's done bad things, but... she's never yelled at me or hit me... she does love me... I can't leave her with him..."

_Of course you can. If she really gave a shit about you, wouldn't she get you out of here? Actually get you __somewhere safe__, not just dump you on some stranger's couch while he does hell knows what __to you__?_

"Maybe I shouldn't leave," I said as I slipped my coat off. "Mom and I should get out together."

_No. Time's up. __You already promised me we could __leave today__. I __finally have this chance, and I'm not stopping. I'm getting the body out of here __**now.**_

My chest tightened, then everything went to black.

* * *

My next conscious memory found me sitting on a bench in a familiar park. It had snowed since the last time I'd seen the outside, with colder weather to match. The playground had been shoveled to make room for the kids who currently played on the equipment, but piles of snow, still new enough to be mostly white and clean, lined the entire fence around the park in waist-high heaps.

I used to spend a lot of time in this park...

An image of me riding around that playground structure on my rusted old bike filled my mind. I usually rode around my house; it gave me a reason to get out when my parents argued. Ride around the house ten times, I'd tell myself, and by the time I go back in the house, they won't be fighting anymore. If it didn't work, then I must not have gone fast enough, and I'd have to try again. I operated on similar logic whenever I rode my bike here. Mom was there, watching me from the bench with a cigarette, but Dad was nowhere to be found. If I could make ten laps without him showing up, then he wouldn't come that day and I would be safe.

I didn't make it on the day that I remembered. He approached the park with heavy steps, a fire burning in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?!" he asked Mom. "Who said you could take my son out without asking me?"

"Why is it that he's your son when I do something you don't like, but he's not when you actually need to help me raise him?"

I pedaled even faster. Would the fighting stop if I pedaled fast enough? Would it stop before some of my classmates showed up like they have before? Then they'd ask me what's wrong with my parents at school tomorrow, and I'd have to insist nothing's wrong, but no one would believe me, everyone would whisper and point at me but then stop talking when they realized that I saw them doing it-

_What are __you __doing awake?_ There was that deep voice again, interrupting my memory. If a voice can sound like an impatiently tapping foot, his managed it.

"I don't know," I answered. "I just am now. I don't remember anything from inside."

_You never do. I wonder wh__y not._

I looked down between my legs to see that I still had my backpack with me. Opening it revealed that its contents had barely changed since I left home. The sight of food sent my stomach growling worse than I ever remembered, which really said something. My stomach wasn't the only part of me with a complaint, either. I poked my tongue out of the desert of my mouth and licked my lips, but I may as well have rubbed them with sandpaper for all the good that did.

"How long have we been gone?" I asked.

_Does it look like I brought a calendar? _he snapped. _Maybe... nine days? Ten? I don't even know._

My stomach growled even louder at that thought. "Ten days? Most of the food's still here. Haven't you eaten or drank anything?"

_Wasn't hungry __or thirsty__,_ he said tersely.

"Well, I am," I said as I dug around through the bag. I withdrew a red apple, bruised and covered in eraser shavings, but not too gross for me to eat. After brushing off the debris, I eagerly took several bites of the crisp fruit, not even stopping to wipe the juice from my chin. My stomach flipped in relief, or maybe nausea from being fed for the first time in nearly two weeks. "You need to eat more. It's not good for us to skip food."

_I took what we needed to stay alive,_ he replied. _Taking more would be wasteful._

I resumed inhaling the fruit, ignoring his words about waste. "Hey, do you have a name?" I asked, my mouth still filled with apple. Before he could answer or I could swallow, I took yet another bite, going as close to the core as I could without biting it in two.

_Nope, didn't come with one_.

"I should give you one, then." I reached back into the bag and withdrew a water bottle. The seal on the one I grabbed was broken - by the deep voice, I assumed - but he didn't even drink enough from it to bring the water level down to behind the label.

Y_ou should. Not having a name isn't any fun. Makes me feel like I'm not worth as much as you._

"Don't say that! No one's worthless!"

He only responded with a huff. I ran through a mental list of names as I ate my – breakfast? What time was it, anyway? After taking another hefty chunk out of the apple, I opened the water bottle and took a long swig. Even if it was only glorified tap water, my tongue sang as if I'd washed it with the finest of juices.

"Hyde?" I suggested from behind my sleeve as I wiped my mouth dry. "You know, like in that book. Since you're a darker side of me."

_Could you get any more cliché? I don't like that one. Try again._

"Joker?" I tried.

_I'm not a clown!_

"Hm..." I leaned back against the bench as I tried to think of another name. "Well, I've got to come up with something. I can't just keep thinking of you as 'the deep voice'. That's not a name at all."

_Let me know when you get something good. The sooner, the better._

I tried to take another bite of the apple, but try as I might, I couldn't get any more fruit off the core. My stomach insisted on more, but I had to save my stash. Who knew when I'd get more food if all this ran out?

_Are you done eating?_ he asked. _I want to come back out. Not like you have any other reason to be awake._

"Yeah, I'll go back in," I said. "It's getting cold anyway. Will you be all right in this?"

_I can take care of that just fine._

* * *

I awoke with hard, curved plastic underneath me, forming a very uncomfortable bed. Still, both my body and mind felt tired enough that I could tolerate this.

"Five more minutes..." I mumbled as I rolled over on the cold plastic. After I stopped moving, the position I ended up in sent what was likely a bolt digging into my arm. Oh well; I'd been through worse. I could sleep here a bit more before I moved on.

I could even sleep through the thumping in the distance that shook my current nest, thumping that got closer and closer.

"Hey! Hey, you! Why are you sleeping in here?"

I rolled over on my back and opened my eyes only enough to see a young girl staring down at me, her face upside down in my vision. Light filtered somewhat through the filthy dome window to my right, but most of the tube I'd found myself in remained dark.

"Huh...?" I asked, not awake enough to comprehend my situation.

"You can't sleep in here," she said. "Other kids want to play. You're in the way."

"Oh!" I rolled again and scrambled to my hands and knees. Finally I recognized where I was; one of the others must have decided that the climbing tubes on the playground would make for a good bed. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I'm just really tired..."

"You smell weird," the girl said, more as an observation than an intentional insult. "When's the last time you took a bath?"

"Um..." I stammered. 'At least ten days ago' would have been accurate, but probably best unspoken. I still wore the same clothes I ran away in; not surprising, since I'm not sure where any of the others would have found new clothes or a place to change into them.

"Aren't you a little too old to be in here?" she continued on. Indeed, while I fit in here, it wasn't by much. I used to crawl through these things for fun, but now the space was too cramped for it to be enjoyable anymore.

"Yeah, probably," I admitted. "Is there anyone behind me?"

"No, there isn't."

"Then I'll go. I'm sorry!" I scrambled backwards as best as I could in my current position, until my leg finally dropped down a step. I pulled myself out of the tube, stood up, and stretched my limbs, sore from the poor choice of sleeping space. As I stretched, I took the time to evaluate my surroundings. The first thing I noticed was a change in jacket. The one I wore now wasn't the highest quality, but it was thicker than my old one and wasn't filled with holes. It was a size or two larger than I'd normally wear, but that only made it cozier than my old one. I still felt cold without any further protection from the weather, but at least this was an upgrade.

Where did it come from, though?

A second question popped into mind; where's my bag? This question was thankfully answered quickly, as I looked down to see my bag leaning against the play structure. As I climbed down to the ground, I tried to contact the deep voice again.

"Hey, um... Venom?"

It took him a few seconds to respond. _Wait, was that to me? Why Venom?_

"He's from Spider-Man," I explained. "He's another dark side villain, like Mr. Hyde."

_You watched way too many cartoons back home,_ the deep voice said. _Don't name me after one of those. I want my own name._

"Sorry. Where did the coat come from?"

_Found it on the ground shortly after I took over yesterday. Comfy, isn't it? Black, too. I like black._

"Someone just left their coat behind?" I said as I pulled my bag onto my back. "That seems careless. How long was it there, do you think?"

_I think the owner was still on the play structure. Probably took it off so it wouldn't get caught on something. Who cares, it's ours now._

"What?!" I exclaimed. "They would have come back for it soon, then! You can't just-"

"Excuse me." A woman stood in front of me. "Who were you talking to?"

"Um... no one?" I said with a laugh. "I'm just playing pretend. It's a game."

"I see." The woman and I locked eyes with each other for some painfully awkward moments. I wanted to flee, but if she wasn't done with me, it didn't seem right. "Where are your parents?" she finally asked.

"Home."

"You're here by yourself?"

"Yes."

More awkward silence passed between us. I tried to sidestep away, but she sidestepped with me, never taking her eyes off of me.

"Hey... are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"My daughter said she found you asleep in the play tunnels."

"Oh, uh..." I muttered as my face grew red. "I'm really sorry about that, I didn't mean to get in her way..."

"Do you need me to call for help?" the woman asked.

"Huh?" I was so busy babbling that I wasn't focused enough to reply properly.

"Do you need me to call for help?" she repeated. "Is something wrong? Any reason why you can't go home? We've seen you hanging around here a lot."

"I-"

_No,_ the deep voice hissed. _We're not getting involved in that crap again. Independence, remember? Your dad sucks, your mom sucks, her friends suck. Who says anyone else will be any different? The only people we can trust are ourselves._

"I'm fine," I said, quickly shifting my intended words.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Yet more of that silence. Did she not believe me?

"Well... maybe I should go home," I said with a forced laugh. "My parents may be worried about me, you know... gotta hurry home..." Without focusing any further on this woman's concern, I walked off the playground.

_We can't come back here anymore. Not if people are going to ask questions._

"Then where can we go?" I asked.

_Just not here._

I'd walked to this park by myself plenty of times, so I knew precisely which direction home was in.

So I walked the opposite way.

* * *

I stumbled out onto the sidewalk, my ill-gotten prize clutched in my hand, my heart pounding in my chest.

_Stop flailing around like that, you'll just call further attention to yourself. No one saw you. You're fine._

"This still doesn't feel right," I said.

We ran low on food that the deep voice wanted to eat. I didn't mind the cheese so much, I just ripped off the discolored parts before eating it, but the deep voice insisted that I needed to stop eating it because we deserved better than that. And so here I was, spending yet another night seeing what I could steal from convenience stores. I never targeted anything in particular; I'd walk in as nonchalantly as I could, preferably at early hours of the morning when there were no other customers. Then, when the lone employee staffed at that hour was distracted, I'd grab the nearest thing and run. I hadn't been caught yet, but I couldn't help but fear it was inevitable.

I collapsed by a bush, panting from the adrenaline, and took a look at what I'd gotten this time. I didn't really care for raisins, but a raisin granola bar happened to be my pick for tonight's dinner, so I'd have to deal with it.

"Why don't you ever steal anything?" I asked him. "Why do I have to do it?"

_Who says I don't? I've stolen plenty of things. You've just got to earn your keep, that's all. Help me out. I can't do all the work._

"I've never seen anything you've stolen," I said. "Do you eat it right after getting it?"

_It's usually not food. I don't think of it. I'm not used to needing to eat. I don't enjoy it and I don't have to do it when I'm inside._

"Then what's the point of stealing?"

_Excitement? It beats sitting around doing nothing. Usually I just grab things to see how much I can get away with. You can get away with a lot of things if you just look like you're supposed to be there. That's why you need to stop panicking. If you look suspicious, someone's going to notice. But if you're confident, you can fill your arms __with all sorts of things, and by the time someone notices you've walked out with it, you're two blocks away._

"What do you do with all that stuff? I've never seen any of it."

_I usually just throw it aside shortly after leaving the store. What are we going to do with a stack of unactivated gift cards?_

"You're putting us at risk, aren't you? What if we got caught? You can't steal things for no reason! There's no point to it!"

_How about I live my life and you live yours, all right? Don't tell me what to do._

"Fine..." My stomach's growling insisted that I stop this argument, for it was taking more energy from my body than it could stand. Instead, I focused on my stolen dinner, or breakfast, or whatever meal people eat at 3 AM, assuming the clock in that convenience store was accurate. "How much longer are we going to be out here?" I asked as I peeled off the wrapper.

_What do you mean? Where else is there?_

"Somewhere with a roof. Somewhere we don't need to steal anymore. I don't want to live out here forever. I've actually been thinking that..." My voice trailed off as I second guessed that sentence.

_Been thinking what?_

"That... once we're out of food... we should go back home."

_**What?!**_

I expected him to scream, to fill my head with thoughts of anger and flames, but even the expectation didn't prevent me from shrinking down as if I'd be hit. Not that he _could_ hit me, but the reflex remained all the same.

"The break's been nice... it's been quiet..." I said. "But we can't survive out here forever. At least home was warm, and we got food more often there than we are now... it's not that I want to go home, but if it's the only place we've got... it's better than the streets..."

_**We're not going back there! **_he raged. _**We're not, we're not, we're NOT! Don't you EVER say that again! If you drag us back there then I hope he beats you to death that same day! You'll have asked for it!**_

"I'm sorry!" I whimpered, my head so full of thoughts of flames that even with the surrounding cold, I thought I'd burn down where I sat. "I know you were scared there-"

_I'm not scared, I'm just pissed!_

"...but I'm scared out here. Isn't there anything else we can do?"

_Absolutely not, Mike. Anywhere you could possibly go would just take advantage of us. We're staying out here._

"Maybe I could find out where Miss Kelly lives, I think she'd take care of us and not hurt us-"

_** No. **I will **never **__rely on anyone else again. If you try going somewhere else, then I'll just leave again. Don't waste your time._

"Okay... I'm sorry I bothered you." I tried to shake my head of any thought of escape as I ate my granola bar. "You still need a name... you like fire. Maybe Flames?"

_That's your dumbest suggestion yet. Stop talking to me. You're getting even more on my nerves every time you open your mouth._

I looked up at the sky to watch the first flakes of the next snowfall drift to the ground.

* * *

I screamed at the first sight I got after becoming conscious again. One hand clutched a small dog by its scruff and held it up in the air, while my other hand held a pocket knife. Blood ran down the dog's curly white fur from a huge gash in its throat.

"What's going on?!" I cried out as I threw both objects in front of me, sending them both into a mound of snow. The dog continued bleeding, staining the white snow with red. "Who did this?! Why?!"

_You mean the dog? I got bored._

I staggered to the brick wall in front of me, then turned around so I could sit with my back against it. Against my own better judgment, I turned to my side to look at the dog's corpse. As my lungs hyperventilated, I tried my best to form all the questions that swam through my mind.

"First, where did we get a knife?" I asked.

_Stole it from some kid in the park. I grabbed a bunch of things from his pockets. I think he noticed, but he couldn't catch me. He had a lighter, a knife, a wallet with some money... lots of things. You're welcome for the money. Now you can stop bitching about needing to steal. I'm gonna keep doing it, but now you don't have to._

"Next, why did you kill a dog?! What did that dog do to you?!"

_Didn't I answer this one already? I got bored. _How could he talk about this so casually? _It was so easy to catch, too. It trusted me. Bounded right up to me, I pet it a little... then out came the knife. It didn't stand a chance. I've had bigger struggles than that one._

"But... but why?!" I finally had to look away from the grisly scene as both tears and vomit tried to work their way out of my body. "How is that fun...?"

_Are you questioning my hobbies, Mike? Look, I even made sure it wasn't wearing a collar before I killed it. No one will miss it, so you can't complain about that._

As my body shivered, I drew my knees up to my chest and hugged them tight. Calm down, Mike... calm down, calm down... maybe it's a nightmare... maybe this isn't happening...

Through my tears, I noticed a red mark peeking out from underneath my coat sleeve. I rolled the sleeve up, and gasped in horror at the red lines that now marred my skin. Scratches on my skin weren't anything new, but these weren't there the day I left.

"What happened to our arm?" I asked. "Did you get in a fight?"

_Nah, I did that myself. You're right about one thing, living outside and hiding from people gets boring. I've got to keep myself stimulated somehow, and last time I got bored there wasn't a dog within reach._

"Why would you cut yourself?!" I asked. "That doesn't make any sense! We ran away because we kept getting hurt, so why..."

_Pain's different when I'm in control of it,_ he said. _I've got a lot of shit going on in my head, okay? Lots of stuff I really don't want to think about, but I couldn't stop myself and couldn't find any other distractions. So I used the knife to cut myself. At least it got my mind off of Dad. I don't want to think about him anymore._

"Could you not do that?" I asked. "I don't like seeing this..."

_No promises. If I need to distract myself again and there's no animals around, what else am I supposed to do?_

I pulled my coat sleeve back down so I wouldn't need to look at it anymore, then resumed hugging my knees. Even if he did try to save me, I never truly trusted the deep voice, and every time I awoke he gave me another reason not to.

* * *

The snow swirled around me, and no amount of pulling my coat closer to me could save me from its sting. I sat on the frozen concrete, too cold, too hungry, and too tired to even wish for anything else. This had become my life, the same way that screaming and hitting used to be my life. What right did I have to complain?

An empty carton of orange juice sat on its side next to me. I clutched my stomach and groaned; drinking the rest of that was a mistake. How long had I been carrying it around with me? But I was so thirsty, and too tired to go steal myself some water... it was all I had left... but clearly it had spoiled, and the bacteria now wreaked their havoc throughout my entire body. I couldn't let myself throw up. I had barely anything in me, and letting it all come back up wouldn't have done me any good.

But if the juice had its way, I may not have had a choice.

According to the deep voice's guesses and my own observations, I'd been out here for over a month at that point. No matter how much I begged, he wouldn't let me get myself out of this, whether it was by going back home or trying to find someone else to take me in.

If he had his way, I'd die out here, sooner rather than later.

"Malevolent," I croaked with what little voice I had left.

_What?_

"Malevolent," I repeated. "It was one of my vocabulary words in school. Right before we left."

_Why are you thinking about school at a time like this?_

My stomach heaved and bile rose in my throat, but I swallowed it back down. "Malevolent. It's an adjective. It means 'wishing evil or harm to others'."

_So?_

"When I first learned that word, I thought it sounded a lot like Dad," I continued. "But after I've spent all this time with you... the way you talk to me, the things you do to people... it's you. You're the malevolent one."

The voice scoffed. _So what if I am?_

"I don't trust you."

_After all I've done for this body?! After I got it away from people who would have killed it? After I've helped keep this body fed, helped keep it away from people who would hurt it, put my own safety on the line just to keep it alive?! I could have gotten caught stealing that money for you, but I did it away! You haven't even spent it yet!_

"You kept saying 'the body'..." I pointed out. "You're not really helping me, are you..."

_The body is priority. You're just incidental. But if helping you out means you'll stop whining... not that it's worked, you're never satisfied with anything..._

"What happened to Svetlana?" I asked. "I miss her... she was nicer than you... I want to talk to Svetlana. I haven't heard from anyone but you in a long time..."

_She __abandoned you, Mike. __They all have.__ Isn't it obvious? If they cared they would have tried to make some contact by now. They've never even tried to take the body all this time. Either they've abandoned you, or they're dead. Point is, they're gone._

I leaned my forehead on my knees and took a series of deep breaths. Don't pass out... don't go to sleep... I didn't want to freeze to death... but as long as I could feel, that meant I was alive, right...?

I needed to stay awake... but everything hurt so much...

I wanted to go home... not with my parents, but somewhere that could be called home... just a home, anything but the cold stone underneath me...

My stomach heaved again, this time too strongly for me to swallow back. A burning orange liquid burst out of my mouth and splattered on the snow in front of me. Even after eliminating the offending bacteria, my stomach still churned. I couldn't tell if this was hunger, or if I needed to get sick again.

Either way, I'd give anything to make this stop.

I lay down on my side, too weak to even sit up anymore, and curled up into a ball. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing again. Stay awake, stay awake...

No... what's the point of prolonging this?

A small blonde woman with a dancer's body, petting my hair and telling me in her thick accent that it would be okay... that I don't deserve any of this... had Svetlana returned?

No, I was just dreaming this... was I...?

The image in my head shifted to a larger blonde woman repeating those same words. Miss Kelly... I wasn't lying on the ground anymore. Instead I lay on a couch, with blankets and pillows all around me, by a fire burning in a fireplace...

I still lay on the sidewalk. Did I? I saw a young boy in filthy clothes laying in a pile of brown snow, but was that really me? Did I have a body at all?

I wasn't cold anymore... wasn't hungry... wasn't anything.

The image of that cold, starved boy faded. Everything faded, and I remained just aware enough to realize that I wasn't aware of anything.

My last awareness was a conviction that I was dead.


	3. Arrest

**And we're done! Sorry this one's so short; it was initially supposed to be part of chapter 2, but then chapter 2 got really long and I couldn't fathom throwing all this on top of it. It also made sense to break where I did because of the POV shift that this one starts. But I also don't know how to extend it. Well, if you're reading this all at the same time instead of following it since April, I guess it's not noticeable.**

**Sorry the update took so long; some of this stuff has been written since _Christmas_! But finally, here we are at the conclusion!**

* * *

The nameless one sat on the floor of the mind. What an irritating conversation... even with everything he did to protect this body, Mike still wanted more? He'd rather put the others out front? What an ungrateful brat...

The others... no, they'd never be out front again. He made sure of that before he even woke Mike up on the morning they left.

Nearby sat four rocks, each one much larger than the person shackled to it by their ankles. The middle two trapped Manitoba, who currently glared at the nameless one from underneath the brim of his hat, and Svetlana, whose distressed eyes glassed over and no longer appeared to see anything. Shackled to the rock all the way to the left was a short old man, bald on the top of his head but not around the sides, his small glasses slipping down his nose from his head's nodded position. Chester, was that the name? The nameless one almost never saw him awake, a fact he regarded as merciful, since he'd heard that the old guy rarely shut up once he got going. On the right was a younger man about the same age as the nameless one, his skin tanned to the same shade as a well-cooked carrot, his hair slicked back with enough grease to support a fast food fryer for a week. He sat with his back to the rest of them, only occasionally turning back to glare at them. He'd heard the name "Vito" - was that who this was? All he knew about this one was that he tended to fly into a blind rage, shouting curses and swinging inefficient punches, whenever he thought someone was about to touch him. The nameless one hadn't heard a word from him all this time, either, which he regarded as another blessing.

The middle two were much more vocal and much more agitating.

"We can't continue this anymore!" Manitoba snapped. "The body is breaking down! Can't you feel it?!"

"Not really," said the nameless one without the slightest dregs of emotion. "I'm feeling fine."

"Then you're in denial!" Manitoba insisted. "I haven't even been awake in weeks, and even I can tell something's wrong! Mike is breaking down something fierce, and it's even radiating all the way out here. If you won't let us out, then you need to get out there and do something about it!"

"No."

Svetlana was the first to cry out at the appearance of a sixth person. An unconscious figure appeared in the air, a few feet above the ground, and landed between the nameless one and the row of prisoners with a small thump. The small child's battered body heaved as he took ragged breaths that echoed across the empty expanse. Weeks' worth of filth stained his worn-out clothes and his body, now shrunken enough to subtly reveal the shapes of bone.

"_Michael!_" Svetlana shrieked as she lunged forward, but the chain stopped her from reaching him. "Michael, what has happened to you?!"

"Crikey, what's this kid been through?!" Manitoba asked.

The nameless one shrugged. "He looks okay to me."

"Is this the shape the body's in?!" Manitoba asked. "No wonder we've all been feeling so weak! You need to get this kid to a shelter, or a hospital, or _something, _and _now!_"

"Oh, yeah, sure, that's a great idea," the nameless one sneered. "They'll feed us, give us pills, tell us everything will be all right, and then Mike will tell them where he used to live so the hospital can call, and then Mike's mother will cry about how much she misses her baby, and Mike's father will insist that he got all those scars while on the run and that he never touched him, and then they'll believe every single lie and ship us back home. And then we're back at square one. What a waste of time."

"Do you know what your alternative is?! If this gets much worse, we're all going to _die_! Don't you understand that?!"

"Mike's so weak because he keeps listening to the body and feeling its pain. I've been working on fixing that. It's not my fault he can't just ignore it. If he lets it kill him, that's his problem."

As the two men argued, Svetlana continued reaching out, desperately trying to pull Mike closer to her.

"Then try thinking about this selfishly!" Manitoba said. "Like it or not, Mike's our original. He supports the system for the rest of us. If one of us dies, he just gets some really crappy memories, probably has a meltdown over it, maybe decides he can't handle it and recreates the one who fell. It doesn't impact anyone else. But if he dies? This entire system collapses, and we're all done. Including, might I point out, _yo__u_. What sense is there in putting yourself through all this risk to survive, just to get all of us killed in the end?"

"Quit shouting, I'm napping!" Chester called over the argument. "Damn kids, always gotta yell to make their point-"

"Oh, shut up, old man!" Vito contributed. "Like anyone wants to hear from you, either! I just want all you people to get away from me, leave me alone, don't _touch_ me-"

"_**All of you, be quiet!**_" the nameless one roared, flames rising around him and intimidating the crowd into silence. As his outburst died down, he took a deep breath to ease his nerves. "Look. I don't understand why you're under such an impression that I'm going to allow myself to die here," the he said. "Like I said, I'm stronger than Mike is. If he intends to give into this body and let it kill him, then that's just a reason to let him sleep in here for longer. I can keep this body, and myself, alive. I don't care what happens to the rest of you, but I'll keep myself going. You'll see." He grabbed Mike's limp body by the collar of his shirt and stood up, lifting him from the floor with minimal effort. Still clutching Mike, the nameless one walked forward before stopping at Svetlana's feet and glaring down at her.

"Here, you want this?" he asked. "You can keep it. It's of no use to me." He dropped Mike down to the floor at Svetlana's feet.

"Michael!" the dancer cried as she pulled the starved young boy into her lap and pet his matted hair. "Michael, oh, Michael... what has he done to you...?"

"I did _nothing_!" the nameless one snapped. "It's his fault for being so weak!"

"It will be okay..." Svetlana continued, ignoring his shouts as a tear formed in the corner of her eye. "We will get you help, we will get you food, we will get you warmth..."

"I'd love to see how you plan on managing that," the nameless one said. "I'm going back out, and I'm staying out. I won't let Mike kill this body. I'll make it through on my own." He turned and walked away, with everyone too focused on either Mike or themselves to notice as the nameless one faded away.

* * *

He took a long drag from his cigarette, then exhaled, letting the gray cloud of smoke billow in the winter wind. Almost instantly, he felt the fumes curling around his mind, easing his nerves and slightly numbing the urge to punch the brick wall behind him for no reason other than letting out energy.

He regretted starting this habit, admittedly. He loathed being dependent on anything, but here he'd gone and made himself dependent on the noxious chemicals inside these paper rods. But when he was younger, he'd heard Mike's father discussing how smoking eased his stresses, so he went ahead and took a few of his cigarettes and gave them a try. Living at home consisted of nothing but stresses, and at the time, he'd try any solution he could to limit their impact.

He hadn't anticipated this addiction, this feeling of loss and frustration without the chemical to bring him back down.

He'd fix it someday. He'd distance himself from this body's addictions and stop listening to its intrusive demands. But for now, unlike eating and sleeping, at least he gained some sort of pleasure from smoking, so he could continue to give in for a while longer. Stealing these from stores was impossible when they kept everything behind the counters, but he could pickpocket from people on the street. The kid with the mohawk he stole these from had some pretty awful taste, he had to admit; these cigarettes had so much tar that he may as well have licked the street. But at least he could get the chemical from this.

Another drag reduced the cigarette down to a useless nub. The nameless one discarded the stub in the snow along with its ashes, then leaned against the brick wall behind him and groaned. He pulled out his lighter, the same lighter he got beaten for over a month ago, and repeatedly flicked it in front of his face, focused on the flame as he created and eliminated it.

_I'm hungry..._ A thought in his own voice peeked up as the body's stomach growled, but he instantly swallowed it down. No, he wasn't hungry. He was never hungry. The _body_ was hungry. There was a difference.

He wasn't this body. He was his own person, mostly unconnected with this vessel, just inhabiting it for the sake of interacting with the world. Its feelings and protests weren't his. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't cold, he wasn't addicted, he wasn't in pain. He wasn't, he wasn't, he wasn't! Giving into all these pointless needs was how he let them hurt him all that time ago.

He couldn't let it happen again. Never again. He'd take the body's pleasures, but he'd never have any reason to accept its pain.

The stomach churned louder, begging for acknowledgment, but he choked down the feeling again. He wasn't hungry. He was fine. Maybe he'd go find food later to shut the stomach up, but he'd do that on his own time. For now, it would just have to be patient.

He was distant from all this, he was above all this, he'd never hurt again, he'd be strong, he'd make sure-

His thoughts were interrupted by a small meowing sound. An orange tabby cat approached him, and after another meow, began sniffing his shoe. Its light blue collar hung loose around its thin neck, as if it were sized for a much heavier animal.

"What do you want?" the nameless one asked. "If it's food you're after, I don't have anything."

The tabby looked up at him with shimmering green eyes and meowed again.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" he asked, not really expecting the animal to answer. "Look, you have a collar. Don't you have a home to go to? Isn't someone feeding you? So why do you look like that?"

The cat purred as it rubbed its head against his legs.

"I said no. Here, look." He reached over and grabbed the backpack he'd been lugging around all this time. It'd grown steadily lighter over the course of his time outside, between Mike consuming the food and drinks it held and the nameless one occasionally getting bored enough to use Mike's books for kindling. After opening the zipper, he held it near the cat so it could see the bag's contents. "See? Just a stupid plush and some books. No food. Now go away."

The cat soon lost interest in the bag, and instead rubbed its head against his hand and purred again.

"Oh, fine. You want attention? Come here." He wrapped both hands around the cat's shrunken torso and pulled it into his lap. "You look familiar..." he mused as he stroked its head. "Didn't Mike tell me you might have humans who are worried about you? Well, look at you now. If they're worried, they're not showing it very well. They just tossed you out to fend for yourself, not caring whether you live or die..." He winced as the cat licked his fingers with its rough tongue, but endured it enough to keep holding it in his lap. "You must be so hungry and cold... you can't handle being outside like this, can you? You must be suffering."

He picked the lighter back up and flicked it on. He paused his petting of the cat as he watched the tiny flame's dance.

"But it'll be okay, you poor little creature. It'll be okay."

He pulled the cat up by the scruff of its neck and held it in front of his face. The cat meowed, then licked his nose, to no response.

"I'll end your suffering. I'll make it okay."

The cat yowled as with motions quicker than he thought he could manage in his weakened state, he pinned the cat down to the concrete by its throat. It hissed and flailed its paws, but its previous owners must have had it declawed, for it could deliver no wounds to its attacker's arms.

"Come on, hold still, I'm doing you a favor!" he insisted as he lowered the lighter toward the cat. "I've done this for strays before! You're just gonna starve anyway! If you're gonna die soon, I may as well have some fun with it, right?"

Before he could burn his prey, he jolted upright and froze at the sound of sirens. The momentary shock was enough for him to loosen his grip and allow the cat to squirm free. With a final hiss, it dashed off into the setting sun as a cop car pulled up to the curb in front of him. Before the car even had time to stop, a young police woman hopped out of the passenger side door.

"You! What do you think you're doing?!" the cop yelled.

He didn't waste his time answering. Instead, he immediately launched to his feet and took off in the same direction as the cat, not even stopping to grab his bag. His legs burned every time his feet hit the pavement, but he dedicated himself to ignoring it.

He wasn't this body, the pain wasn't his, he had to ignore it-

He didn't make it far. With another gurgle of protest from his stomach, he collapsed to the pavement, scraping his palms and knees against the ground. Even through the pain, he urged himself to get up, to get away, he could do this, he was strong-

The effort proved futile. No amount of determination could make up for the fact that the body didn't have a drop left of energy to spare.

He urged himself to kick and scream as someone encased his wrists in metal cuffs, but he couldn't even manage that much.

* * *

The boy hadn't said anything since they brought him to the detention center.

None of the cops knew what to make of him. It wasn't the first time they heard of this kid; over the past six weeks, numerous reports about someone fitting his description had come in, but no one ever managed to track him down. Part of it was due to limited forces being told to focus on more important things than some out-of-control kid, but part of it was also his elusiveness. A report would come in, and in the two minutes it took for an officer to arrive on the scene, he'd be long gone.

As much trouble as this kid was in right now, the entire center had to admit, they couldn't just leave him in the condition they found him in. Of course, fixing it would have been simpler if only he'd meet them halfway. They sent him off to the showers, and while no one was watching to prove anything, the officers all agreed that he probably hadn't actually washed and only stood under the water long enough to make them believe he did. He still stunk with weeks of odors from sweating and living outside for so long, and his long, untamed hair remained a nest of tangles and oils. At least he changed into the clean jumpsuit they provided, rather than putting on those old clothes he was wearing. The officers threw those away the second they got their hands on them; they were beyond saving.

"Come on, you've got to eat," said the one officer who remained in the room with him. "You don't look so good, and we can't have you dropping dead here. You don't want that, do you? Because we don't either."

The boy ignored her and the meal she'd brought him. The officer thought she made a good choice; no kid would ever turn down fast food, right? Especially not one who looked as hungry as this one did! But to her surprise, the fast food bag and the soda cup she provided him remained untouched. He hadn't even looked inside the bag to see what she brought him.

"Okay. That's all right. You can eat when you feel like it. Just tell me something." The officer leaned over the table in an attempt to lower herself closer to his level. "What's your name? Where did you come from?"

The boy stared at her blankly, his eyes slightly narrowed in what might have been annoyance, but the officer wasn't comfortable guessing anything with this one.

"Come on, you can answer that one, right? It's a simple one."

Still no response. Not even a blink.

"Er... well..." The officer didn't want to admit that she found this preteen kid intimidating, but she couldn't help it. She'd been sworn at, she'd been spit on, she'd been punched, but she'd never been pointedly ignored like this. "You know there have been a lot of reports about someone who looks like you... stuff like shoplifting, pickpocketing, street fights, burning abandoned property... and attacking animals, like I caught you at an hour ago. Was that all you?"

"Yes."

So he _could_ speak! This was progress! "What's your name?" the officer tried again.

Silence once more.

"I said, what's your-"

"I don't have one," he answered. "That's why I haven't been answering; there isn't an answer. Take a hint."

"That's silly," the officer said. "Everyone has a name."

"I don't."

The officer turned her head as an older man in the same uniform walked through the door.

"Did you find anything?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I looked through six months of missing child reports, and I can't find anyone who matches his description. If he's a runaway, then no one bothered to report him missing."

"Does that mean he's not a runaway, then?" the female officer asked. "I can't imagine otherwise in his condition, but who wouldn't report their kid missing?"

"They wouldn't," the boy replied. "I bet they're happy I'm gone, if they even noticed. I'm happy I'm gone, too. So it's fine."

"Now, don't say that," the female officer said. "I'm sure your parents love you and are worried about-"

"Fuck my parents."

Both officers stared at each other through the strained silence.

The female officer coughed. "So, um..." she said. "Any other clues?"

"I found a wallet in the backpack he was sitting with," the male officer said. "Maybe there's something in there, like an ID card?" He handed his co-worker the wallet, and she flipped it open. A school ID displayed prominently through one of the plastic windows, but the muscular build and lighter skin of the ID's owner made it quite obvious that this card didn't belong to their current case.

"Duncan Harper?" she read from the card. "Harper... isn't he the chief's kid?"

"Yeah, that's him," the male officer replied. "I've seen more of him than I'd expect to considering that his parents work here. Hey, boy! Where did you get this?"

"Stole it from some idiot with stupid green hair," the boy said with a shrug. "If he didn't want me to take it, he shouldn't have left it hanging out of his pocket."

The female officer closed the leather wallet with a sharp snap and took a deep breath. "Look, I know you've done some bad things. But we can forgive you. We can help you. Why won't you tell us how to get in touch with your parents, so we can tell them where you are?"

The boy didn't respond right away. Instead, his eyes flicked down to her belt.

"That's a nice gun you've got," he commented airily. "I'm a good pickpocket. I bet I could grab it."

Both of her hands instinctively went down to her pistol. "I want to go easy on you, I do feel sorry for you, but threatening to shoot a police officer isn't going to help your case," she said.

"Calm down, I wouldn't shoot you," he said, waving his hands dismissively. "But if you try to send me back home, I'll grab your gun and shoot myself."

"Don't joke about something like that!" the male officer barked.

"I'm not joking!" the boy said with a laugh. "I'm serious! I don't want to die, but it'd be better than ever going back home again! I'll shoot myself in the head, just one bullet through the temple, and that's it! You'll have a dead kid slumped over on your table because of a decision _you_ made!"

"If we can't make some sort of agreement with your parents on how we should handle you, we're going to have to keep you in confinement until we figure it out," the female officer warned.

"Fine, then! Keep me here, I don't care!" he continued, delirious laughter still in his voice. "Just don't expect me to follow any orders!"

As the boy's body shook with wheezing laughter, the male officer grabbed his shoulders from behind. "Look, we don't have time for this. Just bring him to the cells and let them figure it out. He can't stay quiet forever, we've got to at least get a name from him eventually."

"You really want a name from me, don't you?" the boy asked as the officer replaced the cuffs on his wrists and lifted him from the chair. "I keep telling you I don't have one. But... you know what, fine. He suggested a name yesterday. I think I'll try that one, see if it sticks."

"What are you talking about?" the female officer asked.

"I haven't had a name for all this time," the boy said as the officers led him away. "But for now, you can call me The Malevolent One."


End file.
